


yellow

by HissingMiseries (orphan_account)



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, M/M, Memories, Moving In Together, Nostalgia, One Shot, and aaron helping him through it, robert crying about jack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:27:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7222291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/HissingMiseries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're halfway through moving home when Diane drops a box of memories off at their door.</p>
            </blockquote>





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**Author's Note:**

> Credit to the amazing Jenny ([@scrapyardboyfriends](http://scrapyardboyfriends.tumblr.com/)) for creating [this wonderful piece](http://scrapyardboyfriends.tumblr.com/post/146005442096/because-were-all-desperate-for-robert-to-have-a) \- I knew I had to write it at soon as I saw it. If you've been living under a rock and haven't seen any of Jenny's drawings yet, check them out, because they are insanely good!

It gets off to a good start when Aaron almost breaks his neck on their new stairs. 

Their walls are cream; squares of magnolia that stretch ten feet tall above them. Their carpet is a forest of stiff brown fibres that fray like rope beneath their feet. Their blinds are slathered with dust and their doors are laden with wood grain and their stairs are a fucking health hazard, but it's  _theirs._  Something to call their own. Not a cramped single mattress, or a bed of straw and a blanket, just a box that glows amber in the evening sun with no furniture and no identity. A blank canvas waiting for their fingerprints.

"This place is gonna kill us," Aaron grumbles when he manages to stabilise himself. His arms flail, clawing at the air until they manage to find the railing, and Robert has to bite through his cheek to stop himself laughing.

The to-do list is extensive: despite the bare necessities being provided - a functioning bathroom, a stove (though the lack of fridge-freezer makes said stove pretty irrelevant in Robert's eyes), even a handful of storage cupboards - it's still just a box, a carpeted box with claustrophobic hallways and a musky smell. Its emptiness is both endearing and intimidating; Robert wants it to be pristine, the best that their first apartment can be; Aaron wants it to be liveable in. Neither of them want things to go wrong.

Due to their dwindling away of daylight hours in the pub, filling an ecstatic Victoria in on all the details of their new home (not that there are many), by the time they get a decent look around, the afternoon is sinking into an early autumn night. The lack of decent light casts their box into shadow, making it look almost gas-lit, and a nearby tree taps its branches on their bedroom window like skeleton fingers.

All they have for the night is a hastily-purchased double-airbed, a duvet with no cover and a flask full of lukewarm tea. They're both stood, looking at their pathetic furnishings, when Aaron pulls out his phone and punches in a number.

"'ey up, Mum. Me and Robert are gonna stay at the pub tonight. I know, I know, but I've 'ad comfier beds in prison."

 

* * *

 

It turns out that every familial relationship of Aaron's is five steps ahead of him when it comes to preparation.

"Mornin', love," Chas greets him cheerfully when her son traipses down the stairs at seven in the morning, rudely awoken by his boyfriend's unconscious stirring. He looks soft, his curls dishevelled and hanging low across his forehead, his stubble rough and peppered around his jaw. Robert follows later, shirt buttoned up incorrectly but still pulling off the effortlessly professional air only he can master, even after he's just crawled out of bed. Their contrast will forever be unbalancing to Chas. "Come on, get some breakfast down you both. There's ten tonne of stuff that needs boxing upstairs."

They both share exasperated looks over their breakfast bowls at the reminder. Everyone wants to move home and become independent, but no one wants the whole manual labour part that's involved.

"Didn't we say we were gonna try and find a B&Q before the motorway gets hectic?" Robert offers through a mouthful of toast, and Aaron nods gratefully because if procrastination comes in the form of them wandering around a warehouse, gazing at sleek-surfaced kitchen sets that make their wallets recoil, he'll take it any day over unpacking cardboard treasure chests and choking on the dust. 

Unfortunately, Chas sees through them like glass.

"Uh, not while you're still here, you're not," she protests casually, sipping from a dated mug. "I love you, Aaron, but if you're leaving me, I ain't spending another day with your crap cluttering up the attic."

"Oh, glad to see me go, then?" he grumbles into his cornflakes. Naturally she overhears him and, much to her son's embarrassment, steps forward to ruffle his curls beneath her hand the way one would pet a dog. He ducks instinctively, his boyfriend's presence flushing him gentle pink, but Robert just watches the scene with fondness turning his lips up at the corners. "Where's Liv?"

"At Gabby's." Probably tearing up somebody's house, then. "Don't worry, she'll come and say goodbye before you head off."

"Mum, we're only moving across the road."

"I know," she replies, and every ear in the room catches the sullenness of her tone. 

When they're finished with breakfast and the plates have formed columns in the sink, she stops them in the middle of jacket-shrugging, and the look on her face has Robert guessing she will spend most of the first night of their absence sobbing into a tissue. Tears of sadness or joy, he doesn't know; maybe both.

"Look after each other, won't you?"

Both of them were partly expecting lectures, partly expecting a dramatic farewell, but this is satisfying. It unthreads the tension, brings content lights to their eyes. 

"Of course," Robert speaks first, and Aaron nods in agreement, not wanting to speak because he knows he'll get choked up. Who knew that migrating to the opposite side of the Woolpack would feel so much like breaking chains?

 

* * *

 

"Right, well, because I love ya, I've started boxing up all your stuff back at home," Vic informs her brother as she sweeps past him, expertly balancing three courses on her arms without the slightest hint of instability. He's propped up at the bar, awaiting his boyfriend to finish packing up the personal items he'd rather Robert not see (mostly embarrassing family photos that make his insides curl), and Victoria took that as an invitation for life advice, despite her considerable inferiority age-wise to him.

"Thanks, Vic," he smiles, watching her dish out lunch to a party of five. "You're a star."

"Mhmm, and you're bone idle." It's free of maliciousness, betrayed by her grin, and as she disappears back behind the bar, a thud emanates from the guts of the pub, followed by a string of profanity in his boyfriend's voice. Charity's, "Oi, watch your language in my pub," follows immediately after.

"Help me wi' this, will ya?" The words are muffled due to their origin being stuck behind a tower of cardboard, as Aaron approaches him with about three chunky cardboard boxes stacked to the brim with belongings, barely able to keep hold of them all and navigate his way around the bends of the bar. Robert darts forward, takes the top two from him and nestles them in his forearms, surprised by just how heavy they are.

"Flamin' h- what have you got in here?"

"Don't you start," he says, dumping the box on the empty end of the bar and rolling his shoulders. "Blame me mum. She insisted I take _every_ family photo wi' me."

"Er, you've got about the same weight in shirts, so don't you complain," Victoria interjects helpfully, popping into view like some sort of meerkat and eyeing the box whose frame has begun to warp into curves around the piles of clothing and framed photographs and DVDs. 

"An' that's the first thing we're sortin' out."

Aaron scoops the boxes back up, the tendon in his neck writhing under the stress, and heads out of the pub, leaving his boyfriend to bid his sister a quick goodbye and follow after him. 

"I thought you liked my shirts."

Vic chuckles as the door closes behind them.  _Idiots._

 

* * *

 

Their apartment box appears a little more spacious than enclosing when properly lit by daylight; it looks brighter, crisper, more awake and polished than it had the previous night when the amber of the streetlamps had seeped in and turned everything dusky and orange. The lack of furniture had further contributed to the 'prison cell' aesthetic. Now, however, with the walls a creamy white and the green hills of Yorkshire sprawling for miles just out of their window, everything looks more promising - like their future has brightened along with the rooms.

Bright it may be, but the sea of cardboard boxes that engulfs the carpet makes it near impossible to move anywhere. In fact, when Diane knocks on the door to add yet another box to the growing mess, she lets out a startled noise as she sees the tangle of belongings, with Aaron and Robert sat cross-legged in the middle of it all, slowly but surely organising everything into piles.

"Having fun, lads?" she greets them with, and Robert looks up with a smile (until he spots the box, and immediately his face falls. More stuff to deal with).

"That's one word for it."

"It'll be worth it when it's all finished," she says, teetering slightly amongst the mess, and Aaron rises to help her with the contents of her own box. "Thanks, pet."

"Looks like this one's yours," is the only warning Robert gets before his boyfriend dumps the object onto his lap with an amused smirk; the pain ripples through his legs, and he's about to protest before he spots the daunting  _'FOR ROBERT'_ chalked across the side of it in black Sharpie. The bemusement that crosses his face is enough to trigger an explanation from his step-mother, who watches over the pair with the permanent mother-hen frown that wrinkles her forehead and fills her eyes with maternal concern. It's how she spends the majority of her time when her stepson's around.

"This is ominous," he mumbles jokingly under his breath as he tears at the taped flaps with his nails, though knots of trepidation stir in his stomach like butterflies.

"It's just some family stuff." That's more than enough to stop his fingers from digging;  _family stuff._ Of course Diane, family-orientated Diane who collects Sugden mementoes like most collect stamps, would see no wrong-doing in arranging a little nostalgia chest for her stepson's proper settling down, and there's no true harm done in her actions - her intentions are sweet, Robert can't deny that - but maybe her visions of his reaction were on the optimistic side. Robert doesn't need to dive into the box to know what resides within; family photographs, definitely, of baby-faced Sugdens at the beach or cradling their newborns or captured in moments of genuine familial joy. A little time capsule for Robert to cherish as he moves on in life. 

His heart is going ten to the dozen as he briefly lets his eyes wander over the top of the pile. A framed photo of Victoria, looking barely six or seven with a toothy grin and a mess of bright hair, is the first thing he sees.

Aaron catches onto the lump in Robert's throat long before Robert even realises it's there.

Luckily, Diane's relentless selflessness prevents him from saying or doing something stupid.

"Ooh, and I made some snacks for you both, seeing as you've barely shifted all day," she continues, opening her bag to produce a mini-picnic. Aaron smiles gratefully (the random acts of kindness people do for him still bowl him over every time), thanking her and answering her subsequent torrent of questions about how much the place costs and how they plan to decorate it (they intend to let the women of their families help them out with that; Robert had argued that he should be in charge since he has the better fashion sense, to which Aaron had just glanced down at the patterned shirt the older man was wearing and scoffed). 

She loiters around for a while longer, accepting a cup of tea from the five-quid kettle Aaron had purchased from the nearby Tesco on a 'supply run', to reassure herself that they are indeed settling in well before bidding them good luck.  

The hills are just beginning to swallow the sun when she says goodbye.

It falls into a small silence after she leaves, both of their eyes and thoughts directed towards the box. It sits, half-bathed in orange stripes that filter through the blinds, looking innocent but in Robert's mind, it's festering with history, and he's not sure if he wants to know about it. 

Aaron, who isn't typically known for being the one to talk about the elephant in the room, breaks said silence. "Are ya gonna open it, or..."

Any other person would've got a snarky comment back, but this is Aaron, and Robert just shakes his head, playing the whole thing off as casual. Aaron sees straight through him, of course - he always does - but doesn't press the issue further. 

"I want to make sure I've not left any of my DVDs at Vic's first," Robert says, pulling one of the unopened boxes towards him and ripping it open, revealing rows and rows of DVDs that he and Aaron have amassed over their several marathons over the months; it became a sort of routine for them to, when the rest of the pub was asleep and they couldn't arsed to go out on the town, stick a film or three on and crack open the beers and spend the hours getting closer and closer together on the sofa until they were practically on top of each other (which is how it ended a lot of the time).

 

* * *

 

Upon realising that their day has been claimed by boxes, and the intentions of furniture shopping completely forgotten until now, they realise that they're going to have to retreat back to the pub for another night if they're going to get a decent night's kip.

Their lights work now, so they no longer have to sit in the nighttime dusk; the lightbulb bleaches the walls yellow as they sit amongst finally organised piles of belongings - clothes, shoes, books, discs and the like - all neatly folded and arranged and ready to be stored in drawers that have yet to be purchased. They've demolished Diane's picnic down to the crumbs, along with making good use of the cheap kettle and drinking their own body weight in coffee; their world, after the chaos of the day, has slowed to a steady pace and now they don't really know what to do with themselves.

"I'm gonna try out the shower," Aaron announces, standing up and wincing slightly as his blood starts to circulate properly. "D'you wanna join me?"

Robert chuckles, cheeks going pink in memory of  _why_ they're even moving out, before declining the offer, as tempting as it sounds. The younger man scoops up a set of fresh clothes and a towel, before disappearing into the bathroom. The hum of running water hitting acrylic begins moments later.

The box, the daunting addressed box that hasn't been touched for hours, stares him out from the corner; it remains the only one that's still closed, partially taped from Robert's aborted attempt to open it before, and now it's taunting him, toying with him like only his real family could. 

Eventually, the temptation and the pressure is too much for him to endure and, with Aaron out of the way, he approaches the box and tears it open fully. Victoria's youthful freckled face grins heartily back at him.

The contents of the capsule are exactly what Robert expects: stacks of photographs, some framed, some not; an old, moulting teddy bear with a missing limb that Robert used to own as a child, glassy-eyed and curly-haired; even a flutter of fairground tickets from their youth, the once cyan blue since faded to grey and the corners battered and worn. As much as the teddy bear pulls on his heartstrings, it's the photographs that really hold his interest. Some are incredibly old, still a fuzzy image of black and white, whilst others are infused with dying colours, and the glass in most of them is thick with years of captured dust. The framed ones, though unable to escape the trauma of age, have clearly been taken good care of - that doesn't surprise Robert. Diane would probably rather die than let such precious memories go to waste.

His dad makes an appearance in three out of four frames, in various stages of age, from greyscale to surprisingly colourful tones. 

In the first, he has his arm wrapped around Pat, both of them looking alien in their youth. The wisps of grey hair that Robert remembers are absent, instead replaced with a full head of chocolate-brown hair and rounded cheeks, and a genuine look of happiness in his crinkled eyes. In the second, the wife figure is replaced with Sarah, as they sit in their home with a baby Victoria in her arms. The third is much more recent, back when Robert's hair was brown and he and Andy were just kids - back when women and rivalry hadn't torn them further apart than they already naturally had been.

The fourth one has been cared for, cleaned regularly and handled gently. Its colours are bright despite its obvious age, and the mahogany frame is free of dust, even from the nooks and crannies. The glass has been polished to an inch of its life, and catches the glints of artificial light from the overhead bulb.

It makes Robert's eyes well up with tears.

Robert can't be more than four or five in the image; his soft blonde hair falls in unkempt spikes around his face, and the biggest, most childish grin is plastered across his chubby-cheeked face, the height of childhood euphoria. He's perched on his dad's shoulders, who looks like such a typical farmer in a green coat and his greying hair escaping from beneath his trademark flat cap, but he's also grinning like a maniac, arms clenched around his son's skinny legs. The entire image is slightly blurred, smudged as if someone had dragged a paintbrush across and swept the colours to the left - the result of the photo being taken in motion; it radiates warmth, radiates happier times. 

He doesn't even know he's crying until a tear drops onto the glass.

What is he crying about? He doesn't fucking know. So much time has elapsed since he last saw his dad, so much has occurred in such a blur of time that he hardly feels like the same person anymore. Every time he passes the cemetery, every time he brushes past the photographs in the back room of the Woolpack, every time Victoria or Andy brings up his name to debate some sort of family issue, he feels his stomach churn; with loss, with grief, with guilt.

Ugh, _Andy_. The golden boy, the favourite, the not-son who Jack protected with every inch of his being. No shared flesh and blood whatsoever, but at the height of his priority, each and every time like Andy could do no wrong in his eyes. Even after Max, even after he yanked Andy from a burning Jeep, soaked in a mixture of his and Max's blood, Jack put Robert in a car and sent him away. 

There are secrets about Jack that Robert has never told, and never intends to tell. There were secrets that Jack knew about Robert that he's surprised - and eternally grateful - were never told.

Would Jack be proud of him, of where he's ended up in life? Maybe. Maybe before, back when he resided in Home Farm with a ring on his finger, straight and rich and successful. Maybe Jack would have been happy that even though his son was living a lie, he had more than enough in life to support himself, enough to  _waste_ even. But now - sat in an empty apartment with his boyfriend (his  _boyfriend_ ) and working in companies that aren't centred about agriculture - such a situation would definitely raise his father's eyebrows in distaste. Robert isn't surprised. He's happier now than he ever has been, and he wouldn't trade it for any sum of money or promise of so-called normality put in front of him, but  _fuck_ ; his dad wouldn't be proud. And that stings.

"Robert?" a voice materialises from behind him, gruff and low. It startles Robert, who, in his nostalgic trance, failed to notice the sound of the water cutting off. "Are you all right?"

Aaron looks endearingly dishevelled, with his hair roughly towel-dried and his frame swallowed by a baggy t-shirt and boxer shorts, the blue towel still draped over his shoulders to prevent leaving drops on the carpet. Upon seeing his boyfriend curled up next to the open box, clutching a framed photo inches from his face and visibly trembling, he'd filled with both confusion - Robert has always been determinedly secretive about his family - and empathy, because fuck, if anyone knows about the power of old photos, it's him.

His appearance startles Robert, who hastily wipes his eyes with his jumper sleeve and drops the photo into his lap. "Yeah, fine. How's the shower? Does it work?"

"Yeah, it's- it's way better than the pub. Lot more room," he replies, making his way to reclaim his previous seat next to Robert, and his eyes automatically drift to the row of frames that's set out in front of them. He drinks each picture in, peering curiously at them and feeling his lips twitch up in recognition when he sees Victoria. "Is that Vic?"

"Mhmm," Robert just nods, clearly withdrawn.

"Is that  _you_?" he asks, gesturing towards the photo in Robert's lap, and when Robert picks it back up and feels the wood and glass between his fingers, his throat thickens with emotion once again. He can't do this, not here. "Hey, what's up?"

Sometimes, Robert hates how transparent he is to Aaron.

"It's nothing, really, it's just-" He wipes his eyes again, the fibres scratching his cheeks, and he's met with the disgruntled, unconvinced furrow of Aaron's brow. "I mean, Diane knew what she was doing, leaving this here. Probably just trying to guilt-trip me into going back home or something."

"Or she just wanted ya to have all the family stuff in the flat with ya," he replies, the voice of reason for once, his shoulder leaning against Robert in tired support; the lack of sofa means they need to use each other to rest on, which neither of them are going to complain about. "Me mum's done the same thing. Now are ya gonna tell me what's got you riled up?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Mmhmm."

He chews on his bottom lip in contemplation, trying to piece together the wording in his head so he can speak his mind without sounding like a spoiled brat who's still bitter that he wasn't the favourite - probably because, in hindsight, that's all he really is. And yet no matter how much he tries to dismiss his feelings as the childish grudges that they are, they always manage to rear their head every time he sees his brother, with his arms wrapped about Chrissie - another ex lost to his brother (talk about deja vu). 

"It's just... I don't think my dad would be too happy with where I've ended up."

Aaron considers this, lets it process in his brain, and replies with bemusement.

"What, movin' into a new house, workin' for two companies, pretty well off...?" he says, ignorant of Jack's Yorkshire-bred attitude. 

"Yeah, and in a relationship with a man," Robert says through gritted teeth, sounding much more hostile than intended and causing Aaron to tense up in surprise; he stumbles over his words as he rushes to repair the damage. "He was a farmer, I doubt he'd approve."

"Yeah, well... so?" Aaron offers. Now it's Robert's turn to be surprised. "I mean, look what 'appened back when I cared about what me mum would think about me liking blokes. Ya really can't let yourself care about what people think, especially family. An' I know that sounds weird comin' from me - because _look_ at me - but Robert, I think ya dad would've gotten over it eventually." When his advice doesn't trigger any sort of verbal response from Robert, he places a gentle hand on his boyfriend's arm, light and comforting. A pair of blue eyes flickers up to him. "I guess comin' out must've been shit for ya, especially for a farmer's son... I never really thought about it like that before," he admits, looking down at his lap, and Robert gives him a small, relieved smile.

"I think he knew, to be honest." There's always been a suspicion that Jack knew more than he wanted to believe brewing in Robert's mind for years,  _years_ , from back when he was fifteen and only just realising that the boys in his school were unfairly attractive. Aaron certainly doesn't expect that announcement, and his eyebrows shoot up in intrigue; a silent ask for elaboration. "He must have suspected something, especially since he had Andy to compare me to, and there's no doubt when it comes to Andy."

"Do ya... do ya think that's why..." Aaron tries, treading around the question like it's a landmine.

"Why he preferred Andy? Maybe." Robert sighs, letting an arm fall around Aaron's shoulders who immediately slots into the crook of his arm like puzzle pieces. "I shouldn't have stayed away so long. Maybe if I'd come back earlier, I could've patched things up- I could've tried to  _fix_ things with him." His voice cracks on the last sentence, and before he manages to swallow the emotion back down, tears spring to his eyes again, and this time there's no holding them back. 

Fuck, he feels pathetic. Things weren't supposed to go like this - here they are, sat in the centre of their new flat, their future laid ahead of them like a mountain road, and he's already managed to wind himself up enough with repressed family ordeals to drive himself to tears. Usually, he only gets like this when he's alone, or when Aaron is passed out asleep beside him, to prevent any danger of being overheard and questioned. 

He expects to have killed any sort of atmosphere. Even after a day of relentless unpacking and arranging, the buzz of their new home is still fresh, and Rob's scared that this little outburst has completely taken an axe to it.

Then, to his surprise, he feels his boyfriend stretch up and press his lips to Robert's temple. The stubble brushes against the tender skin, prickling it red, but it's unexpected and it's comforting and its healing tendencies get to work instantly. 

Aaron doesn't say something naff like 'no use thinking about the past' or 'no use thinking about what you can't change' because honestly, that's what he spends most of his sleepless nights doing; but seeing his boyfriend, the man who has been his rock for the past year, curled up and crying over his family and the row of photographs that prey on his memories... it humanises him. It makes Aaron realise that Robert has his own problems - which clearly goes without saying, but it's an unexplainable feeling, the moment you realise that somebody you view as steady, somebody who has guided you through trauma and emotion, has probably cast their own issues aside to tend to you because they view you as more important. Aaron doesn't know how long the insecurities have been festering and growing inside Robert, but now he thinks back on it all, the incidents he dismissed as petty - like Robert's petulant whining over Andy and Chrissie, which drove Aaron up the wall and beyond at the time - are much more understandable now; how grating that must have been, losing an ex-wife to the brother who was always the favourite, feeling like second-best once again. It must have hurt like hell.

Robert's thoughts, on the other hand, have drifted to Katie. God knows what Jack would have to say about that. He wonders if Jack would shop him in for it. He didn't shop Andy in for killing their mum. That would have been really telling.

Although tears don't come quickly to Robert, they come fast when they do; he dabs and swipes at them with the grey sleeve of his jumper, scratching his cheeks red with the rough threads, and he feels Aaron's free hand move behind his back and wrap around Robert's waist, holding him securely, comfortingly - lovingly.

They stay there for probably too much time - long enough for the sky to fully transition to thick, impenetrable darkness - before Aaron finally stirs.

"Are we goin' to the pub, then? 'Cause we'll freeze to death if we fall asleep 'ere."

Robert laughs at the hilarity of their situation, and nods, reluctantly letting go of him so they can stand up. His legs burn in protest at the sudden movement, and just as he's about to brush himself down and flex his limbs, a pair of stocky arms wrap around his shoulders and pull him into a tight embrace.

"Ya can always talk to me," Aaron says, voice husky with honesty that almost has Robert welling up again. _Almost_. "You know that, right?"

"Of course," Robert nods. "And you can always talk to me. That goes without saying.

 

* * *

 

They walk back to the pub, shoulders occasionally brushing against each other teasingly as they stroll in unison. Winter has thrown up an early night (a glance at his phone reveals to Robert that's it's actually only just gone eight o'clock) and a biting breeze. Christmas lights have already begun being arranged, remaining unlit but prepared for when the time comes along. 

"Are we going to get a tree?"

"If you can get a six-foot tree up those stairs without breaking your neck, then yeah, sure."

Robert laughs, a laugh that echoes throughout the empty village, as they continue down the road towards the pub in the darkness, the road lit with streetlamps beneath the cloudless pitch black sky; vast and gusty and disordered with stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading this! There's definitely going to be sequels to this - mostly because I am obsessed with Robron at Christmas and I won't be able to prevent myself from writing mistletoe kisses and getting tangled in Christmas lights - but hey, hopefully things go well. Thanks again, you're all incredible xx


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